Chapter 2: The Universal Emperor—Frieza
North Galaxy, Frieza Force Base K-9527.
This remote outpost served as one of Frieza's many staging grounds scattered throughout the North Galaxy. Attack pods constantly launched and landed in a never-ending cycle of conquest. Whenever a ship touched down, bird-faced aliens in standard-issue armor would scurry over to process the arrival.
A white spherical pod—standard Frieza Force issue—descended toward the landing platform. High-density rubber absorbed the impact as the craft settled onto the pad with barely a tremor.
Hiss.
The hatch unsealed with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a warrior in Frieza Force battle armor. The brown tail wrapped around his waist immediately identified him as a Saiyan. It was Turles, having escaped the planetary destruction.
But something was wrong. Turles slumped forward in the cockpit, completely unconscious. Without proper medical treatment during the flight, his injuries had worsened considerably. His vital signs were barely detectable—he was minutes from death.
The bird-faced intake officer's expression shifted from boredom to alarm in an instant. He immediately started barking orders into his scouter, calling for emergency medical personnel.
In the Frieza Force, your status was determined entirely by battle power. Saiyans, despite being nearly wiped out when Planet Vegeta was destroyed eighteen years ago, still represented the military's elite shock troops. Even a low-class Saiyan warrior commanded more respect than a dozen logistics personnel. If one died on his watch, his head would roll.
The thought made him screech even louder at the medical team. They needed to move NOW.
Within minutes, Turles was rushed into emergency treatment. Only when the healing tank's regenerative fluid rose above his head and his vital signs stabilized did everyone in the medical bay breathe a sigh of relief.
"Saiyans really are something else," one of the medical technicians muttered, watching the heart monitor return to normal rhythms. "With injuries like that, any other species would be dead ten times over."
"That's the warrior race for you," another alien agreed, shaking his head. "What kind of battle could do this to one of them? Must have been a monster."
"Not our problem," the first one cut in. "As long as this warrior doesn't die on our base, we're good. What happens out there isn't our concern."
"True enough. Hey, what's with this weird seed thing?"
Smack.
"Don't touch his stuff! Just leave it with his belongings. He can deal with it when he wakes up."
Drifting in and out of consciousness in the healing tank, Turles could hear their muffled voices through the fluid. At least he'd survived. He hadn't wanted to come to a Frieza Force base, but at the time, he'd had no choice. Without Senzu Beans, only Frieza's advanced medical technology could save him.
In his condition, he never would have made it to Earth. And even if he had, he'd have been too weak to climb Korin Tower and get those beans from the cat hermit. Coming here had been a gamble, but at least he was still officially a Frieza Force soldier. They had to treat him.
The real relief came from what he'd overheard—Frieza wasn't currently at this base. That was excellent news.
He'd face Frieza eventually. That was inevitable. But not now. Not when he was this weak. He needed time to develop in secret, to grow strong enough to matter. Challenging the emperor now would be suicide.
Reassured, Turles let himself sink back into healing sleep, allowing his Saiyan biology to work its magic.
Three days later, he emerged from the tank fully recovered.
After donning fresh battle armor and attaching a scouter to his ear, Turles fixed the medical staff with a cold stare. "Where's the seed I brought with me?"
The aliens glanced at each other nervously until a frog-faced technician seemed to remember something. He hurried to a storage box and retrieved the green seed, holding it out with trembling hands.
Turles snatched the Spirit Tree seed, barely suppressing his excitement, and strode out of the medical bay without another word.
He maintained his cold, villainous persona through the corridors, not even glancing at the various aliens he passed. His destination was the ship launch area, and he couldn't get there fast enough.
Every second on this base was a risk. Who knew when Frieza might decide to visit? Better to grab a ship and disappear before the universal emperor showed up.
He was about to board a spherical attack pod when a reptilian alien stepped into his path.
"Move," Turles said flatly.
"Uh... sir," the alien stammered, sweat beading on his scaled forehead. "You haven't been assigned a mission yet. You can't take a ship without authorization."
Turles paused. Right. These were mission pods. You needed an active assignment to use one—standard protocol. His previous ship had been assigned the same way.
But Saiyans didn't ask permission.
Turles locked eyes with the trembling alien, letting his battle aura flare. The pressure of a warrior's killing intent pressed down on the weaker being like a physical weight.
The reptilian alien dropped to his knees, forehead hitting the floor repeatedly as he babbled apologies. But he still didn't authorize the ship.
Turles let the silence stretch, maintaining the pressure for a long moment before finally speaking with obvious irritation. "Fine. Get up and assign me a mission."
The alien practically sobbed with relief. He pulled out a tablet, fingers flying across the screen, then bowed obsequiously. "Done, sir! The mission parameters have been uploaded to your ship's computer. Please, go ahead!"
Without acknowledging him further, Turles climbed into the pod and slammed his hand on the launch controls. The hatch sealed shut.
Only after the pod had cleared the base's orbital space did Turles finally relax. He wiped sweat from his forehead, exhaling slowly.
Free. As long as he didn't have to face Frieza right now, a little cowardice was acceptable. Survival came first.
As for the mission? He didn't care. Once he had a ship, he could go wherever he wanted.
But his relief was premature.
As his pod left the planet's gravity well, a massive ship appeared directly ahead of him—Frieza's personal flagship.
Through the viewport, Turles could see directly into the vessel's throne room. There, seated in his signature hover-pod, was Frieza himself.
Their eyes met.
Frieza's cold crimson pupils locked onto Turles, and in that instant, it felt like his soul had been flash-frozen. His body seized up completely. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The very thought of resistance died before it could form.
Move. MOVE! Turles screamed internally.
But Frieza's power was beyond anything Turles had imagined. Seeing it in memories was nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand. The sheer oppressive weight of that presence didn't just dwarf him in battle power—it felt like a difference in the fundamental nature of their existence. A god looking down at an insect.
Frieza. A mutant of the Frost Demon race. Emperor of the Seventh Universe, controlling nearly seventy percent of the known galaxy.
Born with terrifying natural power that had impressed even his father, King Cold, and terrified his older brother Cooler.
Eighteen years ago, on the orders of Lord Beerus the Destroyer, Frieza had recalled all Saiyans to Planet Vegeta through King Vegeta. Then he'd obliterated the entire planet with a single Death Ball, wiping out most of the Saiyan race.
Turles had only survived because, as a low-class warrior, he'd been deployed to some backwater world before the genocide. After killing that planet's natives, he'd returned to serve Frieza, conquering world after world, never knowing the emperor had murdered his entire race.
The scouter readings were clear: 530,000. That was Frieza's battle power in his first form alone.
And Turles knew the truth that most didn't—this wasn't even a fraction of Frieza's real strength. His true power level reached 120 million. The transformations weren't to increase his power—they were to suppress it because his full strength was too difficult to control.
What an absurd luxury. Most warriors transformed to become stronger. Frieza transformed to become weaker. The thought alone was enough to crush hope.
Facing such overwhelming might, Turles had lost control of his own body. The helplessness enraged him. The pride of a transmigrator combined with the savage warrior instinct buried deep in his Saiyan blood caused his eyes to redden with fury. Through sheer force of will, he managed to regain a fraction of control over his limbs.
But space pods moved fast. In the span of a heartbeat, his ship and Frieza's passed each other, and the oppressive presence finally released its grip on him.
Turles gasped for air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His body was drenched in sweat, his recently-healed muscles aching as if he'd just fought a desperate battle.
Then the relief hit him like a wave.
Close. Too close. If he'd stayed at the base even a few minutes longer, he might never have left that planet again.
Thank god he'd acted quickly. The terror of that encounter made the joy of survival even sweeter. Almost giddy with relief, he casually pulled up the mission log on his ship's computer.
The destination appeared on screen, and his relief evaporated instantly.
"No way. Why this planet?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
Meanwhile, aboard Frieza's ship, the emperor reclined elegantly in his hover-pod, gazing at the base they were approaching. His tone carried a hint of amusement as he addressed the blue-skinned figure standing before him.
"Zarbon, that pod just now—it carried a Saiyan, didn't it?"
The elegant warrior bowed respectfully. "Yes, Lord Frieza. One of the monkey survivors, by the looks of it."
"Hmm. That face seemed... familiar somehow." Frieza's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Lord Frieza?"
"Ohohoho! No matter." Frieza's distinctive laugh echoed through the chamber. "I've arranged meetings with several galactic merchants. I expect we'll be selling quite a few planets today!"
The crew immediately erupted in sycophantic laughter and flattery.
And Turles, staring in disbelief at the mission log, had no idea how close he'd come to being recognized by the emperor—his face resembling that of Goku's father, Bardock, having nearly caught Frieza's attention.
All he knew was that his next assignment would bring him face-to-face with a being who rivaled even Frieza in raw power.
Because the mission designation read:
Planet Vampa.